


An Honest Man

by lamardeuse



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was as sure of Matt, of this completely left-field relationship, as it was possible to be, and people of John's generation and upbringing tended to get married when that happened. Certainty equalled a ring and a ceremony of your choice: that was how the world worked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Honest Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoshannagold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/gifts).



> A wee present to shoshannagold for being an awesome pinch hitter. I hope you like it!
> 
> Can be read as part of my [Life, Mid-Crisis](http://archiveofourown.org/series/2760) series or as a standalone.

The sad thing was that John thought he was being subtle.

He liked to think that Lucy had figured it out because she knew her old man, but she shook her head and smiled, the way you might if someone you loved was just really, really pathetic.

“You're actually going to ask him to marry you,” she said.

“I never said that,” John denied, trying to look nonchalant.

“Dad, the Supreme Court decision came down last week, and you keep looking at jewelry.”

“I've been looking at a lot of stuff,” John protested. They were at the flea market in Fort Greene, not far from the place where Lucy had found a place to stay after graduation. She was renting a house with three friends, and John was helping her pick out stuff she needed, and stuff she didn't – knick knacks and accessories to decorate the place and make it a home. It was more fun than he'd thought it would be, reminding him of his early days with Holly in a good way. Back then, rent in Brooklyn had been a fuck of a lot cheaper, though – they'd even managed to shop retail.

Of course, some of this used – oh, sorry, “vintage” – crap was more expensive than the same thing at Walmart, but Lucy went on about Walmart like it was the empire of evil or something, which, fine, it kind of was. John was a union man, he got it, okay? And if he wasn't, he'd get it after Lucy and Matt pounded it into his thick skull from either side.

“Maybe I'm looking for a gift for your birthday,” John said. After a moment, he met Lucy's gaze, and sighed. “Yeah, okay, so what if I am thinking about it? It's been five years, for Christ's sake.”

Lucy shrugged. “It's just kind of – conventional.”

“ _I'm_ conventional.”

Lucy barked a laugh. “Dad, you're living with a guy half your age, and you have this habit of throwing yourself off buildings and saving the world.”

“Matt's more than half my age,” John grumbled. He picked up a transistor radio just like the one he had when he was a kid lying on a nearby table, then put it back down again when he saw the price tag.

Lucy leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “All right,” she said. “But let me help you pick it out.”

“What, you think I'm going to buy a cubic zirconia dazzler or something?”

Lucy heaved a put-upon sigh. “Dad, which one of us is better dressed right now?”

John looked down at himself. “I thought I was going to maybe be moving furniture.”

Lucy didn't answer, because being a McClane, she knew when she had won and loved being hugely fucking smug about it. John didn't know it was possible to feel this proud and this annoyed at the same time, but he accepted responsibility for it and moved on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

John's first marriage hadn't gone all that well. He and Holly had never really seen eye to eye from the beginning, and they'd dragged it out a lot longer than they should have, as much for the sake of the kids as anything else. Not that that was ever a good idea, because kids were better off in a house where their parents weren't making each other miserable. By the time he'd figured that out, though, his relationships with Lucy and Jack had suffered, and it had taken years to build them back to where they were today.

He'd had a fuckton of doubts this time around – little ones, big ones, ones that kept him up nights until Matt told him to smarten the hell up – but those were mostly gone now. He was as sure of Matt, of this completely left-field relationship, as it was possible to be, and people of John's generation and upbringing tended to get married when that happened. Certainty equalled a ring and a ceremony of your choice: that was how the world worked.

The weird thing was that in some ways, he and Matt had more in common than he and Holly had. Despite the age difference and the fact that John knew precisely SFA about Matt's chosen occupation, they thought in similar ways, and not only because they had matching equipment. Matt had zero interest in social status or climbing the career ladder, and he preferred nights in with a good e-book, stretched out on the sofa with his feet propped on John's lap as John watched the Knicks lose again.

(One time they'd won and Matt had gone to his knees and began sucking him off right there – a “commemorative blow job, since it probably won't happen again for the rest of the season,” and John had dragged him off his cock, swung him right up and over his good shoulder and carried him to the bedroom, because the kid being a sarcastic little shit never failed to do things to him.)

So things were, well, they were pretty fucking good, and as far as John was concerned, marriage was the next logical step. He'd thought about it back when it was legalized in New York, but the relationship had still been pretty new – they hadn't even moved in together yet – and he hadn't been sure if he was maybe having some gigantic midlife crisis.

He still wasn't sure, but he no longer gave a damn. Whatever had motivated him to let Farrell wriggle his way into John's life, he was grateful for it, because it meant he got to have Matt, today and every day. He got to have his surprisingly good cooking and his mother-hen protectiveness and his ice-cold toes when he crawled back into bed after an all-nighter in front of the computer and the fond look in his eyes that said John was kind of an asshole but Matt loved him anyway. John had no idea why, but after more than five years together, he was finally learning not to question it.

And when you felt like that, you popped the question. It just made sense.

That's what John kept telling himself. But a month after Lucy helped him pick out the ring, it was still sitting buried at the back of his sock drawer.

It wasn't the ring – Lucy had found a fantastic one he was sure Matt would like (and yeah, nothing like what he would have picked), hand-forged steel that had this industrial weight to it and simple, clean lines. It wasn't because he had any doubts about his feelings, now or ten years from now. But twenty years from now, he'd be seventy-goddamn-six, and Matt would still have decades ahead of him, and – yeah.

The thing was, marriage was all about the future, wasn't it? And John's future was going to be a lot shorter than Matt's. And if in twenty years – or ten years, or next week – Matt decided this wasn't what he wanted any more, John didn't want anything to keep him from doing what was best for him.

John loved Matt too much to marry him. The irony of that had him gasping in the shower early one morning, hands braced against the wall and the water making him feel like he was halfway to drowning.

It took a few more weeks for Lucy to quit texting him questions he didn't want to answer, and then he just kind of let things go back to normal. He had a good thing here, he told himself; why did he want to risk fucking it up? Kids like Matt didn't care about something borrowed, something blue, all that horseshit, and maybe they were right. They didn't need a piece of paper.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was getting close to Thanksgiving, and there was already the threat of snow for the weekend, which was making John crabby. He was always like this after the clocks went back – he hated leaving work in the dark even when he had a day shift – but Matt had promised him canneloni tonight, so that was improving his mood considerably.

When he got home, the heavenly smell of Matt's sauce and baking cheese made him almost giddy, and Matt's kiss didn't help, accompanied as it was by an ass grope.

“Jeez, you're handling food,” John said around Matt's tongue.

“I'm sorry, when were you appointed the hygiene inspector for the City of New York? I missed the swearing in ceremony.”

It was a familiar kvetch, but it made John smile nonetheless.

“Bad day at work, honey?”

“Boring day at work,” John said, stepping up to the counter to begin preparing the salad. Salads he could do: he made a kickass balsamic vinaigrette, if he did say so himself.

“Don't worry, maybe you'll get to blow up a plane tomorrow.”

“That was _one time_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt said, flapping a hand at him. John noticed a dull gleam that hadn't been there yesterday.

And then everything ground to a spectacular, crashing halt. Including John's breathing, for a few seconds anyway.

“That's – where did you get that ring?”

“Oh, this?” Matt held up his left hand and waggled it at him. “Just something I found lying around the apartment. You like it?”

“Something you found lying around the apartment,” John repeated mechanically. “It's on the third finger.”

Matt inspected his hand, frowning. “Isn't this where a wedding ring's supposed to go? I Googled and everything.”

John was feeling a little woozy what with his heart pounding like it was going to make a break for it, but a light bulb went on somewhere. “Lucy. Lucy told you.”

“Of course Lucy told me. You think I go rooting around in your fucking sock drawer on a regular basis?”

“How did she know where I'd put it?”

Matt barked a harsh laugh. “Jesus, that's the question you ask? Because apparently that's where you always hide small, valuable things. I personally had never been aware of this particular chapter of the dude manual, but from now on I will follow the rule and make it easier for dude burglars to find shit.”

“Matt – ”

“No, you're done asking questions. I get to ask one now. What made you change your mind?” John noticed through the fog that Matt was still holding his hand up, and it was trembling. Matt was shaking, and it was all his fault. He had to reassure him – _it's me, not you_ – oh, God, that was awful. But before he could come up with something better, Matt continued.

“Lucy has a theory. I have a theory. I'm kind of curious to figure out who's nailed it.”

“How much you got riding on it?”

“No, you asshole, you do not get to make jokes now. _What made you change your mind_?”

“I didn't change my mind!” John blurted. “I still want that – want you, Jesus, you have no idea how much.”

Matt frowned, for real this time. “Then –”

“I didn't ask you because _this_ –” he reached out, took Matt's hand in his, gripped it “– is supposed to be forever. And we don't have that.”

Now Matt was clearly lost. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I got more than twenty years on you. You tell me that doesn't matter now, and maybe it doesn't, but it will soon enough. And I don't ever want you to feel – tied down.”

“Jesus Christ,” Matt breathed, “I owe Lucy fifty bucks.” He staggered a couple of steps until his back hit the fridge, closed his eyes and let out a deep breath tinged with a slightly hysterical giggle. “Oh my god, okay, that was a shitty, shitty day, but it's getting better.”

“This is better?”

“Better than you deciding you didn't love me enough to ask me to marry you?” Matt opened his eyes. “Yeah, this is definitely an improvement.”

“How could you ever think –”

“The same way you thought _I_ didn't love you enough to want to say yes,” Matt snapped. Then he shook his head. “Not that getting married is the be all and end all for everyone – and look, I'm going to have to actually think about this now, okay, because it's not something I'd ever really considered before Lucy dropped her bomb this morning, though if I would marry anyone it would be you, but – shit, I'm babbling –” another deep breath “–okay, look, here's the thing: I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” He pushed himself off the fridge, coming closer. “Or you could.”

“Great,” John said. “Just when I thought this conversation couldn't get worse.”

“Shut up, I'm making a point.” Matt was close enough to touch now, but John knew it was definitely hands off time. “The point is, we don't know the future. I might outlive you, you might outlive me. The only thing I do know is that right now, I can't imagine my future without you in it. And yes, that includes a future where you've forgotten what your dick is for and are only capable of sucking those disgusting raw steaks you love through a straw.”

John nodded, and it was a couple of seconds before he could speak. “Rare, not raw,” he rasped.

“Oh my god, you are _such a pain in my ass_ ,” Matt said, but he was taking John's face in his hands and dragging him down for a kiss, and the ring was warm on his finger and God, John was going to try to figure out a way to convince him to keep it there, because Matt really did want forever, and if you felt that way then –

Well, they'd see. Either way, Matt wasn't going anywhere, and that was all that mattered.

That was everything.


End file.
